The Martinellis were the closest thing to family Cat Johnson ever had. That’s why she ran—to protect them from her threatening past. The orphaned child of classical musicians, she’s been lying low in Nashville, and performing at the No Name Café. When Cat reluctantly agrees to attend the wedding of her beloved foster sister, the plan is simple: make a quick appearance at the Martinellis and then disappear again. Instead she’s thrust headlong into a nightmare.

After a wedding guest is murdered, Cat’s past descends with a vengeance. So does handsome and inquisitive Safe Harbor cop, Nick Stanton, who will stop at nothing to uncover the town’s secrets. That means exposing Cat’s as well. The more intimate Nick’s feelings for Cat become, the more driven he is to find out what she’s hiding.

As things in Safe Harbor take a terrifying turn, Cat realizes that the man she’s afraid to trust might be the only one she can turn to.

EXCERPT

Present Day—Nashville, Tennessee

The No Name Café was crowded, as always on Thursdays. To those who came every week to hear the band, tonight was no different from any other. But the woman known as Cat Johnson knew something was off. She couldn’t settle, couldn’t shake the dread that rolled through the smoke-filled room like an approaching storm. As she did before every show, she peeked through the curtain and studied the crowd, making sure there were no familiar faces. Just in case.

Everything looked as it should. Yet the nagging worry that had been expanding in her belly had grown fur and fangs and dug deep. Fear clawed at her heart with every minute that passed without a word from Joellen. There could be a simple, logical explanation. Maybe the sixteen-year-old runaway was sick, had lost her phone—but Cat’s gut wasn’t buying it. Something was wrong. She’d go track her down, Cat decided. The minute the show ended.

She scanned the crowd through her light-blue-tinted sunglasses once more. Reassured she was safe, for now, she smiled as she stepped onto the stage, her wide performer’s grin as much a part of her getup as the short-shorts and boots. She bowed at the hearty applause, careful of her braided blonde wig, and willed the worry away, at least until her set was over.

She grinned at her bandmates and slipped into the persona she’d perfected over the years. The band started the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” and her eyes twinkled behind the tinted sunglasses and colored contacts. The crowd cheered. With a silent apology to her late mother and her classical training, she lifted her mother’s priceless violin and let herself get lost in the music.

“Great job tonight, Cat,” Walt Simms said later, sliding a big glass of water her way. The balding club owner smiled, showing the gap in his front teeth. “The crowd loves you.”

Cat gulped half the water before she set the glass down and shrugged. “I enjoy playing.”

“That’s obvious. Just as it’s always been obvious you’re way too talented—and too well trained—to be playing in a little dive like this one.”

“Come on, Walt. Nobody’s beating a path to my door. Besides, I like it here.” She leaned closer. “I didn’t see Joellen come in. Did she show up tonight?”

Walt had hired her to wash dishes, at Cat’s pleading, even though he didn’t need additional help. His eyes filled with pity and he looked away, busied himself drying a glass.

An icy chill slid down her spine. She leaned closer. “Walt? What do you know? You’re scaring me.”

Instead of answering, he reached under the bar and pulled out a copy of the Tennessean. “I didn’t want to tell you before you went onstage. Bottom of page six. Sorry, kiddo.”

Cat’s hands shook as she flipped pages until she found the right one. Her heart slammed into her chest as she recognized the face in the crime scene photo. “I have to go.”

*

Cat cracked one eye open and glared at the sunlight streaming through the tiny window in her studio apartment. Her heart pounded as she tried to orient herself, get her bearings, remember what had happened, but the sick feeling of dread sloshing in her belly told her she didn’t really want to. Not yet.

Something crinkled under her face, and she slowly rolled over and pulled the newspaper free.

Local Prostitute Found Beaten to Death

The careless headline at the bottom of page six acted like a bucket of cold water. Cat’s mind cleared, and the anger came rushing back. She snapped her eyes shut and slammed a fist on the sagging mattress. The article said the girl, known as Star to those who frequented her corner of Nashville, had no identification and had been listed as a Jane Doe by the coroner. “Her name is Joellen,” Cat shouted, surging to her feet.

Getting up proved a mistake, as Cat found herself on the bathroom floor a little while later, shivering, hatred and anger still churning in her gut.

She should have saved Joellen, gotten her away from her pimp no matter what Joellen said. She hadn’t been fine, and she hadn’t been safe, and Cat had known that with every fiber of her being. She’d tried to teach her capoeira, Brazilian self-defense, but she knew it wasn’t enough to protect her from the monster she worked for. Cat should have forced her onto a bus back to her family in Oklahoma.

But Joellen wouldn’t go.

Two days ago, she’d disappeared. And now she was dead.

It was Cat’s fault, and that knowledge made it hard to breathe. She staggered to her feet and swiped at the frustrated tears running down her cheeks. “Why wouldn’t you listen, Joellen?” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t you let me help you?”

Her cell phone buzzed from the other room, and Cat held on to the wall as she made her way to the rickety end table. She scooped up her cheap burner phone as she sank onto the musty sofa.

The text was from Eve. Was this text number forty-two? Or maybe forty-three? If this kept up, she’d have to get another phone. Again.

Please, Cat. Come home. My wedding won’t be right without you there. Will you play your violin? For me? Please? Let me know.

Cat tossed the phone on the sofa and leaned her head back. Something niggled at the corner of her mind. There was something she was supposed to do …

“Mrs. Fletcher! Oh no.” One look at the clock, and she knew she was really, really late.

Several minutes later, she crossed the hall, the tap of her cowboy boots on the wood floor making her wince. At the last second, she’d stopped to tuck her hair under her blonde wig and pull on her usual jeans, Western shirt, and horn-rimmed glasses. Now was not the time to get sloppy.

“Mrs. Fletcher? It’s Cat.” She knocked on the door and waited, but no sound came from inside. “Mrs. Fletcher?”

Footsteps sounded just before Cat found herself face-to-face with two hundred pounds of annoyed male. “Are you the one who was supposed to take mom to the doctor this morning? Because she tried to go down the stairs by herself and fell. Broke her hip.”

As he berated her, Cat stammered an apology and rushed back to her apartment, tempted to pull the covers over her head and hide. But then she remembered Mrs. Fletcher’s kindness and decided she wasn’t that much of a coward. Not yet.

She found the tiny birdlike woman in a curtained alcove in the emergency department. Mrs. Fletcher brushed Cat’s apologies aside with a snort before she grilled Cat on why she’d been crying all night long.

Cat swallowed, but before she could get the words out, her phone chirped with yet another text from Eve.

“Who is looking for you, Cat? Are you in trouble?” Mrs. Fletcher asked.

If you only knew. Cat gave her a bit of the truth, which was more than she usually did. “It’s my foster sister Eve. She’s getting married and wants me to come home for the wedding.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop running, to stop hiding who you really are.” Mrs. Fletcher glanced at the blonde wig, and Cat resisted the urge to make sure it was still in place. “Family is what matters.”

The words tempted Cat, like snatches of a melody that drifted on the night breeze. But then reality slapped her, hard. She couldn’t go home. Even if she belonged in Safe Harbor—which she most definitely did not—she couldn’t go back permanently, not without putting those she loved in danger. The idea was crazy.

But maybe, just maybe, she could pop in for the wedding and sneak out again before they found her.

Cat stood and kissed the woman’s papery cheek. “I’ll miss you.” She hadn’t realized she’d decided to leave until the words popped out of her mouth.

“I’ll be praying you find your way home, Cat. Godspeed.”

She pulled out her phone and texted Eve: Stop hounding me. I’ll be there tomorrow.

Several hours later, Cat put her duffel bag and violin in the trunk of her borrowed car and headed south. The day Sal Martinelli had found fourteen-year-old Cat hiding behind the Safe Harbor Marina, the Martinellis had taken her in and made her part of their family. She only hoped she wasn’t bringing danger to their doorstep.

Connie Mann

About Connie

Connie Mann is a licensed boat captain and the author of the Safe Harbor romantic suspense series, as well as Angel Falls and Trapped. When she’s not dreaming up plotlines, you’ll find “Captain Connie” on Central Florida’s waterways, introducing boats full of schoolchildren to their first alligator. She’s also passionate about helping women and children in developing countries break the poverty cycle. She and her hubby love traveling and spending time on the water with their grown children and extended family. (Hubby says they are good at fishing, but lousy at catching.)